


damaged goods

by forthekidswhoaintgotnosoul



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Addiction, Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Bruce Wayne Is Not Doing That Bad, Bruce Wayne Tries, Bulimia, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Abuse, Eating Disorders, Gen, Insecurity, Jason Todd is Robin, Minor Character Death, Minor Injuries, POV Alternating, Recovery, Underage Smoking, i h8 tht ao3 wont let u rearrange tags, kinda-graphic descriptions of vomiting, not all that relevant to the story but putting them as a tw, the last 3 tags r abt jasons mom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:34:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22471126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forthekidswhoaintgotnosoul/pseuds/forthekidswhoaintgotnosoul
Summary: Jason doesn't feel like he is a good Robin. His insecurities turn into an eating disorder.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 8
Kudos: 155





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ok i guess i gotta put two huge disclaimers here first  
> a) i don't claim any scientific accuracy about eating disorders and the consequences they have for your health. while i did some quick googling, this is mostly based on personal experience and written as a vent fic. pls pls pls if u are struggling w ur body image, engaging in disordered eating habits, or even just thinking abt it - reach out, get help. im more than happy 2 listen if u need 2 vent but im just some bored 19yo not a trained professional  
> b) i hav also read like 2.3 batman comics in my entire life, most of the characterization comes from other fic and wikipedia. im open 2 criticism but i warned y'all!
> 
> so basically this fic shouldnt exist for multiple reasons but ive rarely written 1 piece 4 so long so here we are  
> i remade my tumblr again its @stabbygf now . hmu (if u need 2 talk or just 4 fun :))

Jason knew hunger. 

Jason was poor, born in the Park Row District, his father a low-life criminal, mom a drug-addict, blowing the rent money on pills just to feel a fleeting sense of happiness. Being born poor was like being born dead. Hopeless, doomed from the very start. 

That was one of the first things he learned about the world. 

He remembered being barely 3 years old, the hunger manifesting as a painful stomachache, strolling after his mother in the grocery store. She would pick up certain products, check the price, put them back down with a sigh.  
Jason jealously eyed the basket of the family walking past them, filled with fresh fruit and colorful sweets. 

As his mother descended into drugs, she became unable to provide for her son. Jason had to scavenge the trash and steal to survive. At first, he got caught a couple times. And when his mother was to out of it to answer the phone, Willis would take the call. The beatings Jason got for getting caught by the police, almost put him in the hospital – and he was still starving.

Eventually Willis went back to jail, and Jason got better at stealing and pickpocketing. He spent most of the afternoon after class hanging out on the streets, looking for opportunity. Jason only stole enough to keep himself and his mom alive – chocolate bars and other small things, easy to hide in his pocket. But he didn’t only need food, he needed money. He would pull the wallets straight out of the pockets of the people walking past him, featherlight movements unnoticed by the busy Gotham elite. The couple hundred dollars he pulled from their wallets before discarding them probably wouldn’t be missed either. When he found a car parked in a dark side alley, Jason would lift the hubcaps, and anything else of any value, he knew a guy and car parts sold for good money on the black market. By the time he was ten, Jason knew how to survive on the streets, how to fend for himself – but hunger and pain were still his most loyal companions.

He came home one night, pockets stuffed with sandwiches a kind shop owner had given the kid, who had been seemingly hypnotized by the smell of fresh bread and very obviously could not afford it. Jason didn’t want to rely on random acts of kindness, but he took what he could get. At least he and his mom would have something actually nice to eat today, warm crunchy bread, with fresh veggies and good cheese. 

Catherine was passed out on the sofa, pills scattered at her feet. Jason sighed. It looked like he would be eating dinner alone again.  
As he stepped closer, he noticed something was terribly off. His mother didn’t look like herself anymore. He recognized the stains on her shirt as vomit by the smell, but that was not what worried him. He wanted to tell himself the blue tint of her skin was coming from the TV light. Her expression was relaxed, ecstatic almost, but lifeless, like a statue – dead. 

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. And suddenly Jason could barely breath. He frantically checked for a pulse, couldn’t find one, couldn’t feel her heartbeat anywhere. She was cold as ice. Tears welled up in his eyes.  
“Fuck”, the boy muttered, “shit”  
His legs gave up on him, and Jason crumbled to the floor. He didn’t know how long he stayed at the feet of his mother’s corpse, how long he cried. He passed out eventually.

The next day Jason packed his measly belonging and left the flat. He never returned, never went back to school either, only called the police the next day pretending to be a neighbor who noticed an odd smell.

Catherine Todd was dead. His dead-beat father was rotting in prison. Jason was living on the streets and all alone now. Although, hadn’t he already been fighting for himself all his life? 

And then he met Batman.

The runt from Crime Alley, the beaten and broken orphan, the kid with no future, just waiting to meet the same fate as his parents – he was taken in by Bruce Wayne. The richest man in Gotham City.

The manor held more comforts and luxury then Jason had ever dreamt of. Plenty of delicious food, prepared by the ever-patient butler, Alfred. Expensive, old furniture, huge, soft beds, an entire library, that Jason was quick to explore. Then, of course, there was the other side of Bruce Wayne, the side Gotham didn’t know about – the Bat. A vigilante, equipped with high tech gadgets so advanced, common public wouldn’t get access to them for another couple decades. Batman was fighting for justice in the crime-ridden Gotham. And Jason was Robin now. Boy Wonder, the only one Batman could rely on in the field. And Jason wasn’t planning to disappoint. He didn’t complain about the harsh training, the exhausting patrolling every night, the stab wounds and broken bones. He knew he had to not only be a good Robin, he had to be better, then the first. Most citizens in Gotham City probably didn’t know there was a new Robin, though some diehard fans of the vigilante duo might slowly develop suspicions. Jason and the first Robin were fundamentally different. Dick Grayson, that was his name. Jason had read all about him he could find on the BatComputer. Acrobat, dead parents, adopted by Bruce, as flexible as his upcoming suggested. He had watched tapes – Dick was lean, elegant, efficient. He managed to look graceful punching a lowly robbers lights out.

Jason was rage. Less pointed high-kicks and more plummeting his fists into the enemies’ face. All the injustice he had suffered at the very hands of Gotham’s finest scum, all the injuries, inappropriate touches, the sheer fear he had felt when some other street rat came running into his hide-out, whispering that the Riddler or some other Gotham villain was at it again, going after the poor citizens of Gotham for the kicks of it – all these emotions from his past life channeled into pure fury. It was the anger that had kept him alive, kept him aiming to be better. It was the anger that Batman warned him about, when they returned to the cave. 

And seeing the disappointment, somewhere in Bruce Wayne’s well-guarded expression scared the shit out of Jason, more then any thugs ever could. Because if he wasn’t good as Robin, he wasn’t worth anything to either of the billionaire’s alter egos and would surely soon be returned to the street.  
“Now, now”, Alfred whisked in, as if he could tell exactly what Jason was thinking about, noticed the panic behind the domino mask “let me have a look at those cuts, Master Jason”  
Jason obliged quietly, following him to the corner of the cave where a small med station had been set up, but he kept his eyes fixated on Bruce, jaw tense.  
Alfred carefully rolled up the sleeve of his uniform. Jason hadn’t been injured in battle, he had slipped and fallen on a broken bottle long after the enemy of that night was defeated, while Batman was waiting for the GCPD. He wasn’t sure Bruce had seen, he sure as hell wasn’t planning on admitting it.  
“Take a deep breath, Master Jason”, Alfred warned, reaching for a pair of tweezers. Jason grunted, and tensed up noticeably as Alfred proceeded to pick tiny splinters of glass and pieces of dirt out of numerous cuts. It was not the worst he’d had, but it surely wasn’t pleasant. When the painful part was over, Alfred cleaned and disinfected the wounds, and finally wrapped them up in soft bandages. Meanwhile, Bruce had left the cave.

“Now, how about a midnight snack?”, Alfred offered softly.  
Jason was more nauseous, then hungry. But he would never turn down food, some deep-set fear left inside of him, that he would eventually run out again. When Bruce kicked him out, for example.  
He nodded and followed the butler, through the grandfather clock (Bruce wasn’t in his study. Like he was trying to avoid Jason, a voice in the back of his head supplied), and to the kitchen. Jason didn’t spend a lot of time down here, he realized with a tang of guilt. All meals were served by Alfred in the dining room, and Jason, who was far from taking this for granted, had yet never offered to even help with the dishes. Training and school kept him busy.

The kitchen was bigger than the living room in the flat he and his mother had shared. Alfred pointed Jason to take a seat at the small kitchen table, where Jason could picture Alfred quietly drinking his tea when he could take a rare break.  
“I baked cookies this afternoon”, Alfred informed him in his usual, posh tone, “Chocolate-chip”  
He placed a plate of aforementioned cookies in front of Jason, along with a glass of milk. A combination Jason only ever saw in those movies, with happy kids, spending evenings with their loving parents in brightly lit, warm houses, gushing about Christmas presents. He swallowed the clump that had suddenly gathered in his throat.  
“Thank you, A”, he muttered, reaching for a cookie with his unbandaged hand.

Despite the nausea still creeping up on him – he didn’t think he had a concussion, maybe it was just nerves – Jason finished the entire plate. He hadn’t even been fully aware of doing it. Alfred seemed pleased, Jason felt like he was about to throw up for real.  
He looked at the clock hanging on the wall. It was almost four in the morning. He wondered if the butler, who had busied himself with polishing the silverware for the last thirty minutes, slept at all.  
“Well, thank you”, he said, getting up from the table, “I’ll, uh, go to bed now”  
Alfred nodded “Very well, Master Jason”

Jason left the kitchen, returning to his room. It still felt strange. Being Robin was one thing, but being Jason Todd, with Bruce Wayne his legal guardian, was different. Worse somehow, because Jason could not, for the life of him, understand it. Rationally he knew he really lucked out. Not only was there a roof above his head, new clothes specifically bought for him filling his closet, plenty of food and access to education here, Bruce Wayne was the richest, most influential man in Gotham. And that was the part Jason really struggled with, because why would Bruce Wayne of all people take any interest in him. It still felt too good to be true and Jason was waiting for the opportunity to be ripped from him again any second now. Tonight just confirmed that this was temporary. 

His stomach cramped uncomfortably. Jason was halfway through peeling himself out of the work-out clothes he had worn below the armor, when he felt bile rise up his throat. He made it to the bathroom just in time to vomit soft, vile tasting chunks of chocolate chip cookies into the toilet bowl. For almost ten minutes he cowered over it, waves of nausea washing over him, resulting in more vomiting. It was a shame about the cookies, but at least the tight feeling in his stomach had vanished. Sighing, Jason got on his feet, flushed and started brushing his teeth.  
It was stupid. He didn’t even know his stupid body well enough, to realize an entire plate of cookies at four in the morning was a bad idea. Hopefully no one had heard him heaving into the toilet. The residents of Wayne Manor were much more alert then most people, but it was the dead of the night, and it had been a long one at that.  
Jason finished changing and climbed into his bed, doing his best to ignore the taste of vomit still present in his mouth.

Jason had been at the manor for two months when Dick Grayson visited to meet his successor. Jason wasn’t sure if he looked up to Grayson for his work as Robin, the original, Batman’s trusted side-kick – or if he should hate him for that very reason, the awareness of being nothing but a replacement for clawing away at him, making him taste venom.  
Dick Grayson turned out to be nothing if not likeable – his perfect, athletic body displayed in too-tight jeans and a dress shirt with a few too many buttons unbuttoned, only overshadowed by his bright smile and his beaming, maybe a bit obnoxious personality. His interactions with Bruce were more tense, but he seemed happy to see Alfred again, and excited to meet Jason. Of course, Jason wouldn’t be Jason, if he did not respond to Dick’s, at first very enthusiastic, attempts to get to know him with nothing but distrust and aggression. The formed sidekick could barely get more then three sentences out of Jason in the two hours they spend together.

Then it was time for lunch. 

Alfred served seasonally appropriate pumpkin soup for starters, a delicious, juicy lamb cutlets with potatoes for the main course, and for dessert, apple pie. 

“You would have never allowed this in my days”, Dick smirked, watching Jason polish off his second piece of apple pie, after already having seconds of his lunch, as well as finishing up Dick’s potatoes, the ex-Robin had offered to his successor, after noticing his stares. The kid had taken them, albeit begrudgingly. Probably not wanting to accept any kindness from Dick, whom he saw as a threat of some sort, but unwilling to let food go to waste. “Dessert”, he mocked.

Despite his jokes, that were only met by a raised eyebrow from Bruce, and seemingly no acknowledgement from Jason, who maybe hadn’t even heard him over the sound of his own chewing, Dick could clearly tell Bruce was working with entirely different circumstances here.  
When Dick arrived at the manor, he had been a circus artist – already more physically fit then most people would ever be in their entire life. And even though clearly shaken up and traumatized by his parents’ tragic death, fit for the job. Jason, even after all the time under Bruce and Alfred’s care, was still nothing more than skin and bones, multiple inches to short for his age, probably from continuous undernourishment all through his childhood. Which also explained his eating habits, swallowing too fast to probably even taste the food. Eating way beyond the point of physical fullness, because the fear of going hungry again was deeply ingrained in him. He wondered what other worrying habits had followed him from the streets.

Dick could tell the kid was a fighter, but he had not quite found the right way to channel that eagerness into being Robin. Bruce, who had never been parent of the year to begin with, was faced with a challenge here, that not multi-billionaire CEO Bruce Wayne nor Batman were fit for. 

After another hour spend in near silence Dick was ready to escape the uncomfortable atmosphere of Wayne manor. He had come over as a favor to Bruce, and because he had been curious about Jason Todd. 

Reading between the lines, Bruce was clearly struggling with his new apprentice, hoping for Dick to offer some guidance. Well, it seemed Dick wouldn’t be able to help the man out here. He didn’t think Jason was hopeless, but the walls of anger and distrust the kid surrounded himself with, proved too tough to break in just one day. Dick could relate, remembered the feeling Jason must be feeling at that very moment – it wasn’t like he had been an easy child, after everything that had happened to him.

After lunch Jason had disappeared somewhere to the more secluded corners of the manor. And Dick had already accepted he would not get to see him again that day, when Jason entered the lounge he and Bruce had been awkwardly sitting in, cold cups of tea in front of them.  
“Jason, why don’t you train with Dick?”, Bruce suggested, in a tone that made it very clear this was not a suggestion at all. He was probably eager to get out the uncomfortable situation himself and haul up in his office with paperwork he had a better understanding of then traumatized teenagers.  
Jason shrugged. “Ya still know the way?”, he didn’t wait for a reply as he left the room. Dick followed the younger teen with a fond smile creeping on his face.

When he had changed into training gear, what Dick had noticed about Jason before became even more obvious. The kid was skin and bones. Dick could see some muscle on him, and he was built broader then Dick had been at that age, but he wasn’t sure there was a single ounce of fat on his body. Despite his eating habits, he likely hadn’t gained a pound since being taken in from the streets. Dick remembered his early times in the manor, the delicious food Alfred cooked and the extra hours of training he had to put in to keep it off his hips, more or less successfully. It hadn’t mattered in the big picture and Dick had always thought the few extra pounds were the least of his problems. But this was different, Jason didn’t look healthy. He was pale too, dark circles under his eyes that Dick never wanted to see on someone that age.  
Jason frowned at him “Whatcha starin’ at?” 

Dick shrugged. Jason was too alert and suspicious to convince him he had not been ‘staring’. “Brings back memories, I guess” 

Robins were not supposed to be fat. During training with Dick Jason had been able to observe firsthand Dick’s skills, his agility, his fluid movements. His body. No wonder Bruce liked him better, probably wished him back every time Jason’s clumsiness and lack of restraint ruined another stake-out. And Jason could never let himself forget that he was just second-best. That all of Gotham still looked up to the first Robin and Jason would never be as good as him. 

Jason channeled those insecurities the only way he knew how, into anger. Anger he turned on himself, on his body that was as lacking of the qualities Batman was looking for, as his mind. The body that kept betraying him, in every way possible.  
His lack of restraint also applied to his eating. Alfred’s cooking was too good and, well, Jason was not strong enough. The street kid inside of him was overjoyed at all the delicious food, overwhelmed by all the options he suddenly had. Not only was he provided with three full meals a day, Alfred was also more then happy to bring him snacks any time of the day. (Jason didn’t like asking him for anything though, he preferred to get the food himself, not bothering the butler with his unimportant needs. Eating felt even more shameful done secretly, but that embarrassment was easier to cope with). 

Food, in the amounts he consumed it, made him feel slow, heavy and disgusting. He couldn’t bare the feeling of a full stomach, it was just another reminder of how badly he was fucking this up, so Jason resorted to even unhealthier coping mechanisms. Whenever he felt like he overate, which, at this point, was all the time, he would purge.  
He knew it was a really, really bad thing to do – a waste of food at that, his consciousness reminded him. He felt horrible, after involuntary starving for so long, he now didn’t even digest the food he ate. Rendering it useless for everyone else as well. He had seen so many people off even worse than he had ever been, who would probably cry from joy when presented with the mushroom risotto Alfred cooked up for dinner. And Jason couldn’t even keep it down. 

There were also the effects on his health. Robin were not supposed to be fat, but they were supposed to be healthy. Strong. And, as usual, Jason was here to disappoint. He was dizzy all the time lately, unfocused, hands shaking, body feeling like it was filled with led. He knew what starvation felt like, but purging came with a lot of unpleasant side effects. Apart from the painful stomach cramps, Jason was left with puffy cheeks and a stuffed nose. Vomiting was dehydrating, and it felt like whatever fluids left in his body distributed themselves wrong. Even his hair was beginning to fall out. At least his scarred hands, even the popped blood vessels around his eyes, could easily be blamed on the job.  
Mostly, purging was exhausting, making him regret eating the food to begin with. At the same time it was the most relieving kind of emptiness. The confusing state of his body made him even snappier than usual, but Bruce and Alfred seemed to prefer ignoring his rude moods anyway. 

By the time Jason realized what he was doing to himself (six months after becoming Robin, five months into what had become a fully-fledged eating disorder), it seemed it was already too late. He couldn’t force himself to keep anything more nourishing then a cereal bar down, a feeling like he was going to crawl out of his skin overtaking him, all his anxieties getting unbearavly loud, leaving him unable to form a coherent thought until he finally gave in and threw up again. Sometimes he didn't even have to make an effort anymore, the food came up by itself. Jason could justify destroying his body, at least to himself, in ways no one else would understand or agree with, but he knew once Bruce noticed what was up he would take the mask and the name away from him – and that was what terrified Jason the most. 

And than he actually passed out on patrol. It hadn’t even been a big fight – the night was slow. Usually Jason would have been antsy or maybe annoyed, but he was just too drained for most emotions these days. He felt dead.

It crept up on him.

Batman and Robin had followed faint screams to a dark corner on the east end of Gotham, where they saw a young girl, being cornered by two dirty-looking, persistent men. Jason didn’t need to be within hearing distance to know what they were saying. 

Batman dropped to the ground right in front of the group, and Robin followed. 

That was when things got blurry. He remembered his hands trembling as he reached for his batarang just before everything faded into darkness.

His first thought when he woke up, was ‘That’s it. It’s over’.

The world slowly started appearing around him in patches – the beeping of machines, the feeling of an IV inserted in his arm. Soft sheets, the pain wrecking through his body, a bright light, someone else’s breathing. He blinked a couple times, trying to will his surroundings to become less blurry. But even with the black spots dancing across his vision, Jason recognized the person sitting on the chair by his bed. 

He was waiting for the lecture, the yelling, anything, but it never came.  
When Bruce looked up and their eyes met, his expression was unusually vulnerable. “Jason”, Bruce breathed, “Jason, I’m so sorry”

“What for?”, Jason asked hoarsely. His head hurt, in fact, his entire body did. It was worse than any bruising or the soreness after training. He wasn’t sure he could lift his hand if he wanted.  
“I’m supposed to look out for you – and you were starving yourself, you almost died”, Bruce muttered, talking mostly to himself. “I should never have let this happen”  
“B, you didn’t –“, Jason was not sure why he was defending Bruce from himself, still, all he could think about was whether he would lose Robin or not. But Bruce had nothing to do with this.  
And if he were to take Robin away, well he would be right. No one wanted damaged goods. That was what Jason was and Bruce didn’t need him in his life. 

Suddenly he felt tears welling up in his eyes. Shit. 

“Don’t … don’t take Robin, please”, the words left his traitorous mouth before he could stop himself.

He hated begging. He hated how weak he sounded, how his voice shook. He hated the tears rolling down his face. But that was the one thing he cared about right now. Not even the IV currently pumping thousands of calories into his system scared him as much as the thought of losing the only purpose he ever had.

“That’s what you care about? Jason, you almost –“, he stopped abruptly, buried his face in his hands.  
“That’s why. It was right in front of me the whole time”, Bruce groaned, “You were right there, suffering, and I – I didn’t do anything, didn’t see it”

He had understood, quicker and easier then Jason would have thought.

It’s not you fault., Jason wanted to say, but his voice failed him. 

Bruce collected himself “Jason, you are my Robin as long as you want to be. But only once you are healthy again.” 

He looked as stern and unshakable as ever, but there was a glint of something in his eyes. Jason couldn’t quite tell, but suddenly it was a bit easier to breathe. “Okay”, he muttered.  
Bruce nodded, slowly getting up from the chair. 

“You will be fine”, he said, “We will be”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was gonna b 2k of ed bullshit but i ended up just kinda throwing everything in there so this turned out kinda packed ig. HONESTLY i might come backa nd edit/rewrite this bc i feel like its missing som stuff but i just needed 2 get it out 4 now. i promise ch2 will clear sum of it up n will also hv sum of my fv (soft) jason headcanons


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter took chainsmoking like half a pack of cigarettes 2 complete n im still not happy w it. maybe it bc of the topic ive chosen 4 this story - i feel ed's r often portrayed inaccurately in media and uhh i failed 2 incoorperate @ least 50% of the things i feel r usually missing lmao - or bc i usually only post fics when im sure i hv a firm grasp on the characters and universe which is not the case here. idk i thought id quit putting myself down in a/n's after abandoning my last fanfiktion.de acc but here we r

The flame of the lighter flickered in the wind, then extinguished. Jason clicked it again, repeating the process a couple times before he finally managed to shield it from the wind long enough to light his cigarette. 

Bruce would kill him for this, if Alfred didn’t get to him first. They were not fans of the fourteen-year-old’s occasional smoking habit. Jason tried to keep the smoking to a minimum to avoid the nagging, but at the moment he felt like he was going insane and desperately needed the nicotine to ground him. 

Ever since Jason had passed out and his caretakers realized he was sick, they hadn’t let him out of sight for a second. Jason was sure he was being watched even now. Probably three more minutes and Alfred would politely request he come back inside so he wouldn’t catch a cold. 

Jason didn’t miss the sadness in Alfred’s expression whenever he watched him eat these days, noticed that Alfred often happened to be cleaning the room Jason was in at that moment. Bruce was even less subtle, constantly swaying between his usual distant self and hovering over Jason like he might pass out again any second. 

Jason smoked his cigarette, legs dangling over the edge of the rooftop of Wayne Manor (‘What if you had passed out on a rooftop? Swinging from a building? Alone with an enemy?’, Bruce’ voice echoed in the back of his head)

It had been almost two months and Jason was still not allowed back on patrol. That was the most frustrating part. Being trapped in Wayne Manor was frustrating. It was hard to find the motivation to get better without any release for his frustration, something to give him purpose. But Bruce didn’t seem to take his arguments seriously. They had fought about it just yesterday evening. Jason had been not-so-maturely pouting since.

Jason gloomily watched his cigarette crumble to ash. He took two more drags until it burned down to the butt, and extinguished it by pressing it against the wet roof. Then he returned it into the cigarette pack – keeping cigarettes in the pack smelled fucking awful, but Alfred would kill him one more time for not discarding of it properly. 

Jason climbed back inside his room, hiding the wet hoodie in the closet and changing into clean socks. One hour until dinner. Alfred had been even more pedantic about sticking to mealtimes and ‘the family’ (consisting of Jason and Bruce, since Alfred didn’t eat with them) eating together then ever since he found out about Jason’s diagnosis. ‘Bulimia nervosa’. Jason gloomily stared at the food journal on his desk he most definitely didn’t use. A psychiatrist Bruce had met with had recommended one – Bruce, because Jason had refused to see one. Bruce had surprisngly agreed after Jason argued the risk of him letting something slip about the whole superhero business was too big and there was no point in therapy if he would have to lie through his teeth. So instead of a trained professional, he now had Bruce sitting him down after school, whenever he felt like it or could fit his schedule to ask him how he was doing, but in a meaningful way. Jason waried between telling him everything was peachy and snapping at Bruce about wanting to return to the field or much more minor things.

All things considered Jason was okay. Physically. He had gained weight, enough to satisfy Bruce for the time being, he was eating. He just felt like he was going a little crazy. He tried his best to ignore his body, like he had when he was living on the streets, but he might have broken down crying over pants that used to fall off him now being ‘just loose’ a couple times. It was harder to ignore the discomfort eating caused him, knowing it would not be followed by the immediate relief of purging.  
Bruce was keeping close track of his diet, following meal plans recommended by various experts and perfectly executed by Alfred. Jason was pretty sure Bruce knew of every calorie that passed his lips. A knowledge he refused to share with Jason.

Jason was pulled out of his brooding – he had been spiraling again, hadn’t he? – by knocking on his door. He could tell by the manner of the knock it was Alfred. Two knocks, gentle, but firm. Bruce knocked louder, jerkier. Three to four times.

“Yeah?”, he called, picturing the butler outside. Patiently waiting, posture perfect as always. 

The door opened. “Master Jason?”

Jason looked up from the book he had just grabbed off the nightstand. He had opened it on the wrong page. 

“Care to join me in the kitchen?”

He was not allowed to go in the kitchen anymore, after Bruce realized his binge eating habits were not much more then another unhealthy coping mechanism, even if Jason gained some much needed weight by stuffing a couple thousand calories down his throat. Jason accepted the rule, knowing that if he would be caught bingeing and consequently purging – as he certainly would without close monitoring – they would be back to IVs and Bruce looking stupidly heartbroken. Bruce still insisted he stay with someone for at least an hour after every meal. 

Is this a test?, a voice inside of him asked. The same nasty voice that wouldn’t leave him alone these days. 

At some point his mouth had dropped open, and Jason quickly closed it and nodded. “Okay”

Alfred gave him a rare smile. “We could prepare dinner together”

Jason just nodded again, and hesitantly followed the butler out of his room and down the hall. 

“What are we havin’ for dinner?”, he asked as they were walking down the stairs, trying not ignore the queasy feeling in his stomach. Like it was getting ready to throw up already.  
“Pasta with salmon and broccoli”, Alfred informed him. He purposefully left out the creamy sauce Jason knew Alfred prepared with the dish. 

Jason decidedly didn’t like being around food anymore. 

What used to be a great source of joy in his early days in the mansion, now only caused him anxiety and dread.  
But cooking with Alfred was oddly soothing. Jason was a decent cook – as decent as a poor ten-year-old could get. This wasn’t his first time making pasta, but back then Jason would have simply added ketchup, if they had any, and called it a meal. Alfred managed to make even a relatively simple dish like pasta into an art. He put Jason on chopping duty and Jason, who enjoyed having something to do maybe a little too much, discretely added watching the pot of pasta to his responsibilities, as Alfred busied himself with everything else, somehow keeping a pot and two pans under his control. 

Jason again wondered, if this was some sort of test. If they wanted to see if he would freak out. If he was certified crazy and would be better off in Arkham. He tried to ignore the annyoing little voice by focusing on getting the broccoli just perfect. He actually succeeded, more or less.

When Jason was done with the broccoli, Alfred let him stir the sauce.

“Master Bruce is not allowed in the kitchen”, Alfred said, a hint of humor in his voice. Jason looked up from his sauce, a grin spreading on his face. “Oh, really?”

Alfred chuckled. “I banned him when he was seven and nearly chopped off his own hand with a butter knife”  
Jason had seen Batman use all kinds of very sharp tools, so this was certainly a surprise. 

“I’m afraid, as gifted as he is in various areas, Master Bruce is hopeless when it comes to more domestic skills. You’re stirring too fast, Master Jason” 

“Sorry”, Jason mumbled. Alfred pointing out his mistake surprisingly moritified him a lot less then any other authority figure in Jason’s life doing the same. “Good thing we have you”, he said, just a bit embarrassed, nevertheless. 

“I hope, not only for my culinary training?”, Alfred asked dryly. 

“Of course not”, Jason spluttered, keeping his eyes on his wooden spoon, heat creeping up on his cheeks.

A silence followed, that was once again broken by Alfred.  
“Well, I must say you are much more of a help than Master Bruce, or Master Dick for that matter, would have been”

Jason swallowed. Alfred had relocated the pan on a cool stove space and moved on to drain the pasta. Jason was just uselessly standing around now. He wondered if Alfred was only saying that because he had overheard the, admittedly rather loud, fight he and Bruce had gotten into the other night. The argument that had been resurfacing for the better part of the last two months, and why Jason had once again been ignoring Bruce over breakfast.

“Why’d you ask me to help?”, he asked quietly. He hadn’t meant to, but this wasn’t the first time his brain betrayed him recently. 

Had it not been for his training, Jason would not have noticed as the butler froze for less then a second, before continuing his trained movements, adding the pasta into the sauce pan, reaching for the spice shelf.

“I simply thought it would be nice to spend some time together and you used to like coming here", he said.

No mentions of the oh-so-therapeutic effects, or the need of exposure to his fears, or something else Jason was sure Bruce, who had read a total of three books on the topic of eating disorders in the last months, would have come up with. “I always thought you might be more adapt in the kitchen, then most Waynes”, Alfred added with a small smile. 

“I think we are done here”, he grabbed oven mittens, that Jason had never noticed before – they were friggin’ Batman mittens. Bat on yellow ground and all. Jason wasn’t sure he was smiling at that or the compliments Alfred had ever so subtly showered him with – and took the pan off the stove. “Would you be so kind as to carry the plates into the dining room?”

Jason quickly grabbed the plates Alfred had placed the salmon on just before and followed the butler once again. When they had placed the food on the already set table and Alfred was about to leave the room to call Bruce for dinner, Jason quickly said “This was nice”  
The butler smiled, but didn’t comment.

Cooking with Alfred had surprisingly been fun – not only because Alfred had promised him more stories about Bruce’ horrible cooking attempts -, but the meal itself still proved somewhat of a challenge. And Jason was really tired of struggling so much with such a basic human thing. 

It had been easier when he was still consumed by the eating disorder. Eat, over-do it, purge, repeat. He didn’t even have to think about it. It was barely conscious, a force, scarier than many of the villains Jason had faced in Gotham, taking over for him. Of course, eventually, Jason hadn’t felt like there was much left to him then his talent to throw up just about anything. But, still, he kind of missed it. The effects on his body and mind had been dreadful, but all his actions had a clear line of direction, unlike the two voices now constantly battling in his mind. One telling him to throw everything down the drain and return to the odd comfort, watch his body shrink and decay once more, the other urging him to get better as soon as possible, so he could return to being Robin and leave this mess behind him. Often, the second was stronger, but it was harder to follow its advice. 

“Jason, would you start eating please?”  
Bruce was a quarter through his own plate, while Jason had mostly been pushing a few pieces of broccoli around. “Sorry”, he muttered.  
“No need to apologize”, Bruce said a tad to quickly. Jason sighed and stabbed the salmon with his fork, tearing a chunk off and finally putting in his mouth. It was good, of course it was. Alfred would have been horrified by little Jason's spaghetti with ketchup.

"Alfred said you helped him with dinner?”  
Jason nodded. “Uh, yeah. It was his idea”  
“Did you enjoy it?”  
Jason shoved a forkful of spaghetti into his mouth to buy himself some time. “Yes, actually”  
“Well, if you enjoy cooking, we could look into some classes –“  
“I’m good”, Jason cut him off. He could feel himself getting annoyed. This wasn’t actually about Bruce. This was about his very … irritating situation. “I mean, if I do want to cook, why not learn from the best?”, he added, taking the metaphorical olive branch Bruce was extending him after enduring Jason’s silent treatment for the best part of the day (For all his own broodiness, Bruce did not take well to being ignored). 

Bruce smiled softly “I guess you are right. Alfred has a lot on his plate, so he might not have time for –“ 

“Oh, I’d be more than happy about the help”, Alfred entered through the door at just the right moment, cutting off the patriarch for the second time during one meal. Jason didn’t think Mr. Wayne was used to this from all his chairmen and what not. He looked a little confused for a second, before smiling even warmer then before “Glad you finally found someone who can be of actual help around the kitchen, A”


End file.
